Under the Weather

"Tis' healthy to be sick sometimes." -Henry David Thoreau

It seems I have contracted a killer gomboo that has rendered me completely incapacitated. I've smothered myself in every oil I own: Melaluca, Peppermint, Breathe, On-guard like it's suntan lotion. But to no avail. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, we just get sick. In the case of super viruses like this one, you have no choice but to wait them out. So here I sit. I can't taste. I can't hear properly. I feel and maybe even look like one of those little Play-doh guys that you sit on a chair and all of this crap comes oozing out of every opening in his poor little noggin'. I think the children think I'm dying. I think I might think I'm dying, or just wish I was dying. Maybe tomorrow I will regain my will to live. For now, I keep uttering, "Please Lord, just take me now." 

Perhaps that is why we are allowed to get sick. So that when our sense of taste and hearing and breathing ability return, we are so darn grateful. So grateful that the Lord allows us every day to taste and hear and breathe. It's a beautiful thing. Hey, I must be getting a little better. I did pull myself out of my Nyquil-induced stupor long enough to write this post, and I don't even feel like passing out. This is more than could be said of the last four days. Maybe I'll write again, in a few days, when I'm feeling better. If you don't hear from me, it's possible that the Lord got sick of listening to my constant whinings and pleadings and finally put me out of my misery. If this be the case, in lieu of flowers please send money to my children's college fund. I'll go start one right now so that you have somewhere to send the money. Never mind. I'll just lie here and blow my nose.